


The Great Primal Scream Caper

by Mithrigil



Category: Sengoku Basara
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Sengoku BROsara, boys being dumb at each other, warpaint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-21
Updated: 2012-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-14 17:31:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithrigil/pseuds/Mithrigil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Motochika initiates Yukimura into a grand Finals Week tradition, at Motonari's expense.</p><p>Fanfic in the Sengoku BROsara continuity on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Great Primal Scream Caper

**Author's Note:**

> Follows the continuity of http://sengokubrosara.tumblr.com/ and posted with permission of the gracious maintainer. Thanks for letting me play in this awesome sandbox. It has the best sand.

If Yukimura isn’t careful, he’ll probably have to retake English 110. Actually, ‘careful’ doesn’t seem to be the thing that matters when he’s halfway through his first semester’s Finals Week and everyone else seems to have so much more to do than he does. Keiji’s been arguing with the ricemaker in Middle English, Masamune only comes back from the Art building when he runs out of cigarettes, and Motonari hasn’t come out of his room for three whole days. So Yukimura thinks it might be a little unfair that he’s having trouble with Freshman English, even if it’s really hard to come up with something coherent to say about Faulkner, and it’s definitely unfair to ask for help even though everyone at the Help Center’s run out of ideas for him.

Which means, for the past fifteen minutes, he’s been wondering whether it’d be better to just reread the book until it makes sense or take a break and play some CoD.

He’s about to put down his laptop and make a decision either way when Motonari coughs from the hallway. “Oh good, someone’s here.”

“Yeah, hello!” Yukimura puts his laptop down and smiles, since probably Motonari’s working the hardest of anyone since, well, he’s Motonari. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine, I appreciate it.” He doesn’t ask how Yukimura is, though. “I’ve already left notes on everyone else’s doors but I doubt they’ll be sober enough to check, let alone read them. Since I plan to have no part in tonight’s ridiculous ritual, I’m taking my paper to the Psych lab and won’t be back until I can be assured that you’re all passed out. Pass that along if they bother to listen.”

“Uh, sure,” Yukimura says, but Motonari’s already on his way out, somehow buttoning his coat around an armful of binders. Yukimura watches him go long enough to hear the door slam, then decides it’s probably none of his business, and picks up _The Sound and the Fury_ so he can maybe get this over with.

Yeah, he still doesn’t understand Faulkner.

But he won’t give up!

He’s only a couple pages in, though, when Motochika hip-checks the door partway open, carrying a snow-dappled case of beer. “Yo Sanada, give me a hand with this?”

Yukimura rushes over and takes care of the door so Motochika can make his way in. He gets a ‘thanks’ and a bright grin, so he smiles back, and shuts the door behind him. “Wow, snow?”

“Yeah, for the last couple hours. Where’ve you been?”

“Here.”

“Same stupid paper?”

“Same,” Yukimura repeats. He gives a wistful glance at the snow outside. Whoa, it’s already deep enough that it’s already made it impossible to tell where the sidewalk ends and the grass begins. “Motonari and Masamune are still out, do you think they’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, they’ll be back in time for Scream,” Motochika says. Since there’s no room in the fridge, he just puts the case of beer on the windowsill. It’s probably cold enough, Yukimura thinks, and then:

“ _Scream_? You mean the movie?”

Keiji emerges from the kitchen with a bowl of really good-smelling cinnamon rice pudding. Guess he managed to talk some sense into the ricemaker. ...Guess the ricemaker likes Chaucer. “Oh yeah, that’s tonight,” Keiji says. “Thanks for reminding me, Chika.”

“Anytime. Can I?”

“Sure, help yourself while it’s hot. Get some too, Yuki, if you’re hungry.”

“Sure, thanks!” Yukimura’s not one to turn down free food, even if he’s still confused. “I thought you banned horror movies since that whole thing with me and Silent Hill.” He’s a little embarrassed to admit it, but no video game has a right to be that terrifying. He still can’t look at wheelchairs straight.

Keiji drapes himself onto the couch, folds his hands around the cup of pudding and nestles it into the peak of his sweater. “Not a movie. Primal scream.”

“It’s a decompression thing for Finals Week,” Motochika explains, ladling pudding into one of the remaining clean coffee mugs. It’s one of Motonari’s. He’ll probably get sticky-noted about that later. “Everyone goes out on the quad at midnight and lets loose.”

Yukimura quickly scrubs down one of the cereal bowls, since it sounds like Motonari’s got enough to deal with. “Oh. Let loose, like just--screams?”

“Mostly,” Keiji says. “I mean, someone’s gonna bring drums and someone always gets naked, but it’s mostly just people yelling together. It’s supposed to burn off some of the stress and show some solidarity. Like a pep rally, but shorter.”

“Oh,” Yukimura says. It makes sense, sort of. He’s always felt better after yelling about something. And he kind of misses pep rallies now that lacrosse season is over. “Sounds fun!”

“Sounds like something we could all fucking use,” Motochika says around a mouthful of pudding. “If I don’t save my 351 grade I’m fucked. Mm. ‘Sgood, Keiji.”

Keiji somehow bows while still sitting on the couch. “Right amount of nutmeg, you think?”

“Yeah, tastes like grandma’s.”

“That’s the idea.”

Yukimura pauses with a ladlefull of rice pudding on the way to the bowl. “Kind of a pity Motonari went out,” he says. “He probably needs it more than the rest of us.”

Motochika swallows. “Wait, Nari’s not here?”

“Yeah, like I said. He left for the Psych labs a few minutes ago. Though he did say something about not coming back until after a ridiculous ritual. I guess he meant this.”

From the way that Motochika is grinning ear-to-ear, Yukimura is convinced he’s said something he shouldn’t.

“You know,” Motochika lilts, licking a grain of sugary rice off his teeth, “if you think Mr. Motonari Mouri needs it so much, we can bring Primal Scream straight to him.”

Keiji is already texting Masamune. He mutters as he types, “Bring the alcohol-activated paint...and the blowtorch.”

***

Which is how Yukimura winds up in Masamune’s bedroom with a slowly cooling cup of rice pudding and no clothes except his boxers and some bodypaint.

This might be the fourth time he’s asked something like “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“You don’t want it to come off in the snow,” Masamune says. He squints his one good eye and smears another couple of stripes on Yukimura’s cheek with his fingertips. “There, that looks less like whiskers.”

“Whiskers?!”

Masamune smirks, then gives a matching set of red stripes across Yukimura’s chest. It looks like a claw gash, like Wolverine was here, or art from an old World of Darkness sourcebook. “There. Turn around, I’ll get your ba--hey, lay off the gold, Keiji, this shit’s expensive!”

Keiji looks up from the mirror, where he’s painted almost his whole face. “Then why are you letting us use it?”

“Because like fuck you’re touching my acrylics and the tempera comes off in the snow.” When Yukimura doesn’t turn around, Masamune scoffs and spins him, then dips his fingers in the alcohol again and starts scrawling another design on Yukimura’s back. His fingers feel nice, more cool than cold, and Yukimura’s reminded of, well, that night he spent with Mitsunari and--

Um. Wait. “We’re going in the snow?”

“No shit,” Motochika says. He’s also shirtless, but he did his own paint, so he’s less _painted_ and more _covered in purple handprints._ Actually, with his pants slung that low, some of the prints make it look like he’s grabbing his own behind. “How else are we gonna drum up a little support?”

“Well, you’ve got a point, but--“

“Hold still,” Masamune says, though he grabs Yukimura’s hip and makes him before Yukimura can obey on his own.

Keiji puts the paint down and fluffs back his hair. “Man, this takes me back. I haven’t streaked since sophomore year.”

Forget holding still. “I am not going out there naked in the snow!”

“Great job, princess, you just fucked up my design,” Masamune says.

“Hey hey hey, you don’t have to.” Motochika puts up his hands, which are still purple. “Not that Date’d mind if you did.”

“Fuck off,” Masamune says.

“Thank you,” Yukimura says. He looks down at the floor. Masamune must really be angry if his nose is that flushed.

Motochika goes on, smirking, “Besides, I think I got just the right job for you, and you should probably wear pants.”

“Oh,” Yukimura says. “Okay.”

“You got Sarutobi’s number?”

“Y-yeah, sure, it’s in my phone.” Which is in his pants, but his pants are on the floor, so Motochika just roots around in them and comes up with Yukimura’s phone, then starts texting.

“Flowers or no flowers?” Keiji asks from the mirror.

“No flowers,” Masamune and Yukimura say at the same time. Yukimura adds, “Keep the feathers though, I think?”

***

At 11:59, Sasuke turns off the (borrowed) sidewalk snowplow and finishes clearing the path toward the Psych building. He plants a few more husks of dry wood in the snow, keeps one for himself, and waits.

At ten seconds before the stroke of midnight, Masamune fires up the blowtorch and lights the two massive torches in Yukimura’s hands.

Technically, Primal Scream starts about five seconds before the bell tolls, but hey, who’s counting.

***

Alone in the Psych lab, Motonari turns up the volume on his headphones. The din of this ridiculous event is accordingly ridiculous enough that it requires risking the sanctity of his own eardrums to drown it out.

It’s still not enough. If anything, it’s getting louder.

Wonderful. He grits his teeth, sets the journal he was trying to cite aside, and scrolls through his playlist for something even louder.

Something flickers, out the window. Probably just an increase in the snow.

It’s 12:03. Really, the screaming should have ended two minutes ago, unless--

Unless.

The doors to the Psych lab burst open and nearly fly off their hinges. Motonari throws himself down on top of his laptop just in time to avoid being trampled by a stampede of dozens--maybe even hundreds--of students in various states of undress, led by one Yukimura Sanada with a torch in either hand. The mob charges forward, torches and bare branches brandished high, at least half of them streaked with paint or blood or beer or god knows what else.

 **“BURN THE UNBELIEVER!”** someone yells.

The only reason Motonari can tell that it’s not Yukimura or Masamune shouting that is that both of them are screaming louder, the wordless blood-curdling bellows that forebode a slaughter of the ages.

***

Yukimura wakes up with carpetburn on his cheek. Miraculously, Masamune’s warpaint design is still intact on both sides. Yukimura discovers this when he realizes he slept in his contact lenses, and gets a little bit of wood ash on his eyelids when he panics and tries to take them out.

Well. So last night happened.

There is also a sticky note on the bathroom mirror.

 _I hope you enjoyed yourselves,_ it says, in Motonari’s familiar handwriting. _You should be thankful my laptop is still under warranty._

***


End file.
